


The Twerking Dead

by JamieBenn



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Twerking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:10:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieBenn/pseuds/JamieBenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick stared in disgust at the slapping, decomposing flesh, jiggling up and down, small bits of adipose tissue flying towards him. He had come to hate the sound.                                   </p><p>The sound of the twerkers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All I can say is; Curse you Sherlock Watson. Curse you.

Rick stared in disgust at the slapping, decomposing flesh, jiggling up and down, small bits of adipose tissue flying towards him. He had come to hate the sound.   
  
The sound of the twerkers. 

 

It had started with a strange beginning. They hadn't been expecting it. The slapping flesh had displeased most, as well as confused them, they didn't understand what was happening to the world. Didn't understand why their flesh slapped together. Not until it was too late, and the flesh was slapping on them.

 

Rick had woken up in hospital next to piles of dead bodies, he didn't recognise the pattern on all of the bodies until he found one. A twerker. It was crawling along the ground, and its head was missing, but all was well with it. Bits of its flesh were flying into the air, not unlike wood chips coming out due to a trees destruction.

 

He hadn't put that first twerker down. He hadn't even begun calling them twerkers until he met the group, and they identified the bottom-shaking movement that he'd seen on the man.

 

The landscape around him was like every zombie apocalypse movie that Rick had ever seen. Except, perhaps, the fact that the zombies in those movies could only be killed by destroying their brain, whereas these 'zombies' could only be killed by destroying their butt. That thought might have gotten Rick excited at first.

 

Rick met Daryl after he met everyone else in the group. Daryl laughed pretty much every time they were attacked by the twerkers. He thought that somehow, the disgusting monsters that liked to kill people with their arse bones was the most hilarious thing that he'd ever seen, even though by the time Rick had met him, he'd probably seen and killed thousands of them.

 

Rick had to approach Daryl about his cackling, about the hesitating before he shot them with his crossbow. 

 

“Look, Daryl, I don't think you're taking this seriously enough.” Rick walked towards Daryl in a manner not unlike that of a hostile policeman. The funny thing was, Rick was a hostile policeman. “People are dying.”

 

“I can see that. I'm not just some stupid red neck like y'all think I am. I'm just tryin' to make light of the situation, can't you see?”

 

Rick knew that he was probably over reacting, but in truth, he thought that the way he was acting was best for the group. Sure, Shane had gone off and died, albeit by Rick's hand, but the group still really didn't seem to want Rick as leader, but they couldn't do anything because no one would replace him.

 

“We need to find a place to go, and you sure as hell aint helping, Rick.” Daryl snorted the words in Rick's face.

 

“I'll grab these twerkers coming towards the camp, and you can sort your shit out, Daryl. There's only three of them, so they won't be able to harm me.”

 

That was when Rick had ended up looking at the twerkers, staring at them. Their sound was like the beginnings of a storm. A distasteful, flesh flinging, stink storm, that is.

 

Rick began getting confused as the twerkers began twerking harder, and harder, and their butts came towards him and a faster speed, and just as he was about to put the twerkers down, he looked over at Daryl, to see him looking upon more of the twerkers with the same confusion.

 

He wasn't sure how he was going to stab their butts. The three of them were so close together, that if he reached towards one of their butts to stab it, then the others might grab him and try to hold him down so that the other one could sit on him, and turn him into one of them.

 

Rick really didn't want to be one of them. He couldn't imagine his flesh flopping in such a way, but knew that it would. He knew that it would turn floppier than it was as his human self, and that he would begin shaking it, and that bits of the flesh would begin falling off, but somehow there would always be something to twerk, no matter how long he'd been dead. No matter how long he'd been one of them.

 

Daryl saw that Rick wasn't coping, despite there only being three twerkers. They were under strict rules not to shoot at anything. They didn't need more twerkers raging on their camp. They didn't need more of the ass-flappers hanging around their camp.

 

Daryl put down the last two of his twerkers and ran over to Rick. “Y'all right, Rick? Weak as shit if ya can't put down only three of 'em.”

 

Daryl shot the three twerkers with his crossbow. 

 


	2. Two

 

“Look, I know you ain't used to this like the rest of us, hell, we ain't used to it yet, but they like the thought of you as leader and shit, man. Y'are the man they look for, for everything.” Daryl told him that night, “They only twerkin', man. Nothing to be afraid of, eh.”

 

Rick had disbelief written all over his face, but if Daryl recognised the image, he didn't say anything. Rick was disbelieved. He couldn't believe that the twerking dead actually existed. He'd heard of the twerking dead, but they weren't what he'd thought they'd be. He'd thought that they'd be these cool little things shaking their asses, but they won't. He couldn't believe that those twerking dead stories were coming true. It fucking pissed him off man. He could believe it. He couldn't believe that those twerking dead things were coming dead. Because who would have thought that the dead would come back to life simply to kill you with their butts,

 

Rick missed Shane a lot. He wanted Shane. He wanted him so bad. So bad because he was his friend, and friends stay together, always, but he'd ended up killing him, and killing your friend is probably a bad thing to do, or it would be if they were in the real world. Killing his best mate is probably not something that Rick wants to do again. Daryl probably wouldn't let him anyway.

 

Rick hadn't believed it when Shane had come back as one of them. Rick had seen the butt movements. He could hear the tearing of flesh as the butt shook. It was almost twerking too hard, and then Shane had gotten up. Rick could see in his eyes that it was no longer the same Shane that he'd known for years. That it wasn't the same Shane that had been his partner for years at the station. It was an absolutely horrible feeling.

 

Rick thought that Daryl didn't go through anything. He thought that Daryl was as tough as nails, and that there was nothing that could really stop him. Nothing that would tear him down. Sure, he'd gotten a little bit crazy when they'd left Merle on the rooftop, and when they found his hand, but he'd never really lost it. Daryl had always been the rock of the group, especially when Rick couldn't be.

 

The problem was that Daryl sometimes tore himself to pieces inside, and didn't tell anyone about what was going on. He just let himself tear up. He would laugh about the twerkers when he was in front of everyone, but when he was by himself, he cried at the thought of everyone that he'd ever known being turned into one. What if Merle had been bit? What would Daryl do but cry, if that was the case? Daryl mourned for a brother who was probably dead, but wasn't.. and a good psychiatrist would probably tell him that he was falling to pieces. That even they couldn't treat him. Give him a level ten psychosis stamp, and send him off to that psych ward that he'd always seen crazies leaving from when he was little.

 

The problem was now there were no hospitals. You've got to keep your crazy thoughts about the wiggling bums to yourself. You've got to keep everyone else with you sane, and you can't do that if you're letting them know your own doubts. You're supposed to be the biggest man of the group. Sure, Daryl might not agree with around half of the decisions that the group makes, and the group doesn't understand half of the decisions that he makes, and that is why he isn't leader (face it, he should be, and he would be, but he has more nerve that to take out Rick Grimes, the groups beloved, and 'fearless' leader).

 

The truth was that the twerkers haunted Daryl's dreams. He'd thought that he should have dreams of what life was like before. That maybe he should have dreams of the good things that he'd done with his brother. How they'd gone hunting for dinner some nights when their dad left them. Or maybe even the little stupid things when Daryl was even younger, where he'd got to do very few things that normal children did, but hell, when he got the chance, he had fun doing them.

 

Daryl sometimes had the urge to find a person, and huddle up towards them. To wrap his arms around their waist, and tell them of all the worries that were messing up his head. Of all the things that he didn't want to be there, and that maybe they'd escape. That he didn't need to dream of people's asses moving all over the place because they'd become one of them. They'd become a twerker.

 

At one point, he'd thought that that was Carol, and in a way, he still did. Carol was nice. She was motherly. She still had that maternal instinct, but Daryl still felt drawn to her. Still felt like he could trust her, like he'd never trusted anyone before. Felt like he could do so much with her, even though he really barely knew her. He knew that she'd lost her daughter, and that that was the most traumatising experience that she'd ever gone through, and that Daryl had tried to help her through that... and it had kind of worked.

 

In some ways, Daryl still thought that Carol could help him like that. Still thought that maybe they could just huddle up one night, and they would barely even have to speak. But they could if they wanted, and the other would just listen, and not judge them. They wouldn't have to be judged, because no one deserves to be judged when they're feeling in depth emotions about the people they care about twerking from beyond the grave.

 

Hell, Daryl never liked twerking in the first place.

 

He remembered the news reports. It had broken out at some crazy celebrity awards show. Some celebrity had gotten on stage, they'd begun singing their song, and then all of a sudden their ass was shaking, because they were twerking. Daryl had stared with disbelief at the news report as fans didn't stay away from their favourite infected celebrities, and also began to become infected, and then it started spreading unbelievably, and no one understood it. No one understood it, and that was the prime reason for the spreading.

 

The whole of New York had gotten infected by the government spilling blood of the dead into the water system, and failing to release a contamination warning. All the residents began to get infected. It was horrible.

 

Daryl realised that he should probably find a place to shack up. To get a little bit further out of town. His father owned a hunting cabin in the mountains, so if he could just make his way there, then he'd be safe. It was stocked just in case of emergencies with a hell of a lot of food, so if they did ever get stuck, then they wouldn't have to live off of the meat they caught all the time.

 

He'd come across the group. With Shane leading it, and doing a terrible job. He didn't quite remember their reasons for joining. He knew that Merle didn't want to. He just wanted to keep going ahead, but he didn't want to leave Daryl, and Daryl kind of didn't want to leave the group, or rather, had no choice, when the road they were travelling on got blocked by cars, and they couldn't make it past because it was a huge pile up. Daryl had wondered what had happened, but tried not to dwell on it.

 

The world had begun to shut down. It had begun to become a stranger world than what they knew before. All the electronics began shutting down. There was no ways to charge everything. Everything was ending. Nothing was the same. Daryl knew that he could live, but then again, he knew that the world probably wouldn't. He knew that everything he was thinking was for nothing because the asses were moving. The asses were coming, and everyone would eventually die. Eventually become one of _them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same goes for this chapter guys. Three more kudos, and then I post more (after I write it)!
> 
> I also apologise for my horrible characterisations, because I know that they are probably OOC.
> 
> Also sorry for the recounting of the show and the odd mention of Shane.
> 
> I'm not even sure when/where this is set... but I think I'm pretending that it's those months we don't see between the farm & prison, but that Lori died before, and I'm pretending that the kid doesn't exist because how do I write that. Gosh, I haven't even mentioned Carl?? 
> 
> The Daryl/Carol is for you. You know who your are, Daryl.
> 
> Just don't hate me...

**Author's Note:**

> 3 kudos = more or I won't be bothered writing any more or I might we'll see but you should still kudo it


End file.
